


Late Nights in Brighton

by amooniesong



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Running Away, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27514000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amooniesong/pseuds/amooniesong
Summary: Tubbo didn’t know what to do with his hands. When he first started walking through the dark streets of Brighton they had held onto the straps of his rucksack tightly, and after a while he’d let go and shoved them into his pockets, but now he had them at his sides and balled up into tight fists. He could flex his fingers, maybe he could stretch or rub his eyes…Thinking about what to do with his hands seemed nonsensical, it seemed pointless, but it gave him something to think about.It wasn’t as if he didn’t have anything to think about, it was just that if he stopped thinking about what to do with his hands he’d have to start thinking about where he was going, what he was doing, and he’d have to figure out what to do next.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 96
Kudos: 707
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	1. Chapter 1

Tubbo didn’t know what to do with his hands. When he first started walking through the dark streets of Brighton they had held onto the straps of his rucksack tightly, and after a while he’d let go and shoved them into his pockets, but now he had them at his sides and balled up into tight fists. He could flex his fingers, maybe he could stretch or rub his eyes…

Thinking about what to do with his hands seemed nonsensical, it seemed pointless, but it gave him something to think about.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t  _ have  _ anything to think about, it was just that if he stopped thinking about what to do with his hands he’d have to start thinking about where he was going, what he was doing, and he’d have to figure out what to do next.

Tubbo was a smart kid, he knew that, but this seemed a little harder to figure out than most things.

He’d had an argument with his family. He’d argued with them plenty of times before but this time had been different, new insults had been hurled by all parties involved, things that had been (until today) unsaid were now voiced, and everyone knew where they stood. 

Leaving had made sense.

Wandering the dark streets of Brighton in November didn’t make sense anymore. It was cold, it was raining, he had nowhere to go and he didn’t know what to do next. He kept thinking about his hands, letting his legs work on their own. He didn’t think about the puddles he stepped in, or pressing the button at the pedestrian crossings he carelessly wandered over. He didn’t think of anything else until he reached the end of the pier. 

The rain from before had begun to fall harder, and being on the coast meant that Tubbo now experienced the brunt of the storm. Huge waves from the sea were crashing against the pillars that kept the pier stable above the water, wind blew the rain sideways - and if Tubbo thought he was cold before he was now positively  _ freezing.  _ He shivered, his hands moving to his waist to try and wrap around himself, make himself smaller, conserve what little heat he had left so he didn’t drop dead on the spot.

He didn’t want that. Without the placement of his hands now firmly decided upon, his mind began to wander to other thoughts, and he  _ knew  _ that dropping dead at the end of the pier because of the cold the night he left home wasn’t something he wanted.

He wanted a hug. He wanted to feel safe. He wanted to be warm, to be loved, to have dinner. He wanted to play Minecraft, to stream, to laugh with his friends like there was nothing to worry about.

A particularly large wave crashed against the pier, he felt himself shaking at the sheer force of the impact. The wind had whipped up a mist of water droplets from the splash and Tubbo felt them hit his face, fast enough to sting his freezing skin.

He cried.

It had been a long time since Tubbo had cried. He was nearly seventeen, he had his emotions in check, he didn’t cry if he fell over and scraped up his knee or if he stubbed his toe, he had built up a tough enough skin to cope with Twitch chat and YouTube comments, he had a good support network. At least, he  _ thought  _ he had a good support network. He thought he had a family that loved him, turned out he was just a burden, loud, annoying. He wasn’t a son his parents could be proud of, he wasn’t the kind of person that his family could love. He wasn’t good enough for them.

_ He wasn’t good enough for them. _

If he wasn’t good enough for his own family, then what made him good enough for his friends? For his audience? What if all those jokes Tommy had made hadn’t been jokes? What if all the hate comments were truthful? Surely if his mother didn’t love him, if his father had never wanted him, and his sister hated even just  _ looking  _ at him, there was some truth behind all the hurt.

The thought that Tommy could hate him alone was enough for the tears to fall faster. With the rain and the saltwater spray it was difficult to tell just how hard he was crying, but with no one around that he needed to hide that from it didn’t matter. No one was there to hear his pained sobs or his quick breaths, no one saw the way his body shook while he lowered himself to the ground. He was alone, but then maybe he’d always been alone and he’d just never really seen it.

Time passed slowly, or perhaps it passed a little too quickly, but the storm over Brighton eventually moved and the clouds overhead disappeared. The world was still dark, but the storm had passed. Tubbo had stopped crying, too. He realised that crying would do nothing for him, crying wouldn’t solve the problems at hand - it wouldn’t make him warmer, it wouldn’t fill his stomach, and it wouldn’t find him a safe place to spend the night. 

Getting to his feet and starting to walk again would at least help fight against the cold, so he did. He took the next few minutes one moment at a time, one step at a time, not thinking about anything other than where his foot would fall next until he felt a little more composed and his body a little warmer.

Next came the issue of food. He had some change in his pocket, he had his wallet in his bag, and while he didn’t know where he would be going next he  _ did  _ at least have a somewhat steady income from Twitch and YouTube. He’d have to make arrangements to keep streaming if he wanted that to continue, but for now it would keep him alive and that was what mattered. 

He went to McDonalds. He tried not to think about the games of  _ Deal or No Deal  _ he’d played with Dream, he didn’t want to think of the friends that hated him and how many happy meals he could buy. Instead, he bought large fries and a sharebox of nuggets, before tucking himself away in a corner with several sachets of bbq sauce and eating as slowly as he dared. He could feel his fingers again, his body had stopped shaking, and he could charge his phone as long as he was there. He could use their WiFi too, and so he dared himself to check Discord.

Nothing. But why would there be? His friends weren’t really his friends, why would they reach out to him unprompted?

His parents hadn’t texted him, he had no missed calls.

He turned his phone off, letting it charge faster. It was late at night and he’d need it to have as full of a battery as possible to get through whatever would be thrown at him next.

Before leaving a little over half an hour later, Tubbo bought a large hot chocolate, and he left for the dark streets once more.

Tubbo toyed with the idea of trying to get in touch with someone he knew. Maybe someone from college would let him crash on their sofa for the night while he tried to figure things out, maybe Wilbur’s conscience wouldn’t let him keep a child out on the streets overnight - even if he  _ was  _ a particularly annoying child. He sipped on his drink as he thought, trying to preserve the warmth that tickled his fingertips as long as possible. A solution would come to him eventually…

...He just didn’t expect it to hit him so suddenly.

He wasn’t sure where the car came from - although that was a stupid thing to say: the car was in the road, it had been driving, it had come from his right - but he hadn’t seen it until a horn blared and bright foglights flashed. The shock was enough to make him stumble, his disposable cup slipping from his hands and hot chocolate spilling out over the road. The car had braked in time to avoid hitting him, but the fright of realising how close he’d come to being knocked over, the sounds of the horn and shouts of voices was enough for his legs to start moving independently again.

Tubbo turned and ran. He ran as fast as he could, ignoring the trembling in his hands and the light headedness in favour of clambering over a wall at the end of an alleyway. He needed to get away from the voices, from the sounds of people yelling, he’d already done enough wrong for one night. His feet were heavy and his breath loud, and at some point - he didn’t know when - another pair of footsteps had joined his.

Someone was  _ chasing  _ him.

Rather than look around, slow down and try to figure out what was going on he kept running. He ran until he was in a park - a park that he swore he knew, but under the cover of darkness without any lights to illuminate the paths he felt as if he was running in circles. He’d  _ definitely  _ run past that tree more than once, and the person chasing him had longer legs - they were gaining, they were shouting, and  _ God  _ did he just want to stop running and let them take whatever they wanted from him. 

He tripped on an old tree root, he fell forward and dropped like a dead weight. Tubbo felt the air knocked out of his lungs, he felt his hands and knees stinging as they scraped along the ground, and then he felt someone grab him.

“Please don’t hurt me!”

“Tubbo!” 

Tubbo was terrified, he was shaking, his eyes were squeezed shut and he didn’t want to open them again. He didn’t want to face whatever was happening. But his name was shouted again and again, over and over and when he did eventually force himself to look he saw something he didn’t expect to see.

“Tommy?”

The other man had moved his attention away from Tubbo’s panicked face in the time that he’d had his eyes shut, and Tommy now sat slowly picking out bits of grit from the cuts on Tubbo’s palms. In the darkness it was hard to make out the younger’s expression, but Tubbo could tell even now that his eyebrows were knitted together with concern, not anger. 

“Tommy I’m sorry.”

Tommy stayed quiet for another moment, still focused on Tubbo’s hands, and he spoke one last time. 

“Are you angry with me?”

“Wil almost hit you with his car, Tubbo.” Tommy said quietly. “You just… You stepped out into the road in front of us… Tubbo…”

And then, all of a sudden, Tommy moved. Instead of slowly trying to clean up his wounds, he moved to wrap his arms around Tubbo and pull him as close as he could. Tubbo doubted that Tommy would have let go of him if he’d asked in that moment, and if he struggled he felt like Tommy would only hold him tighter, so he just returned the embrace.

After all, a hug was something he wanted.

“Tubbo I was so fucking scared.” Tommy said, his voice starting to shake. “W-what’s  _ happened,  _ Big Man? Why did you-- I mean-- Do you want--  _ Are you okay?!” _

Was he okay? What kind of a question was that? Tubbo almost wanted to laugh, and he swore that a giggle did leave his lips, but he tightened his grip on Tommy as his answer.

“I want to go home.”

“I’m staying at Wilbur’s, we got pizza.”

“Can I come?”

“I think you need to. He’s probably shitting himself right now. I jumped out of the car and followed you as soon as I realised.”

“Can he come pick us up?”

Tommy nodded. The two pulled apart for a brief moment to let Tommy pull his phone from his pocket, but as soon as Wilbur’s number had been dialled Tubbo and positioned himself for another hug. He barely heard a word of the conversation on the phone but he heard the panic, then the relief, then the sound of driving. After the car was parked Tommy stood up and Tubbo stood with him, paying a little more attention to his surroundings as Tommy waved Wilbur over in their direction. The phone call ended, and several seconds later he felt another pair of arms wrapping around him. Wilbur lowered his head onto Tubbo’s shoulder, and Tubbo felt his hands moving across his cheeks and shoulders to check him for any injuries before the older man dared to let himself say anything - the words coming out as a broken sob.

“Tubbo I’m so fucking sorry.” He said, squeezing tighter. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” Tubbo replied. “I fell over.”

“Just a few scrapes.” Tommy supplied, clearly not wanting Wilbur to worry even more than he already was. “He can stay with us tonight too, right?”

“I don’t ever want to let him out of my sight again.” Wilbur whispered, voice muffled by Tubbo’s shoulder. “What were you even doing out so late? Why didn’t you look?”

The question had started being asked by Tommy, but Tubbo hadn’t really had to supply an answer. The shock of nearly being hurt by the car had frightened him into momentarily forgetting  _ why  _ he was out on the streets anyway, and now that he remembered he felt as if he shrank.

He was alone. His parents hated him. He had nowhere to go. The friends that clung to him so tightly now must hate him - and traumatising them both by stepping out in front of Wilbur’s car wouldn’t have made that any better.

“Tubbo?” 

Wilbur’s voice was gentle, kind, something he was  _ so  _ undeserving of.

“Tubbo, you’re alright, we’re here, you’re safe.” Wilbur whispered. “What’s happened, we’ve got--”

“I left home.” He squeaked out, only then realising that he’d begun to cry. “They don't want me. You…  _ You  _ don’t want me either.”

Tubbo didn’t see the concerned looks being exchanged between Tommy and Wilbur, the youngest man’s heart shattering. He didn’t see the devastation that crossed Tommy’s face by the fact that the thought even  _ crossed  _ Tubbo’s, and he didn’t see tears welling up in Wilbur’s eyes, he just felt the hold on him tighten once more and he let it happen.

“We’re going home.” Wilbur told the two of them. “Tubbo, you’re staying with us too. We can talk about this in the morning, but I promise you that we want you.”

Exhausted, Tubbo didn’t bother to fight the sentiment. He wanted someone to want him, he wanted someone in the world to not see him as a burden or a bother, and right now he could pretend that Wilbur and Tommy were the someones prepared to do that.

Wilbur let go of Tubbo only for Tommy to make contact - lacing their hands together and squeezing every so often - it gave Tubbo a constant reminder that he wasn’t alone, and it was something he so desperately needed as the three walked back to the car. The two boys bundled themselves in the back together, Tommy didn’t let go of Tubbo even then. It wasn’t enough to overwhelm him with all the thoughts already whizzing about in his mind, just enough to reassure him that he wasn’t alone.

Maybe they didn’t hate him. Maybe he’d wake up in the morning and everything would turn out alright. 

Wilbur gave him leftover pizza and a spare pair of pyjamas that were  _ far  _ too big on him. The three of them sat on the sofa together and watched reruns of Bake Off until Tubbo fell asleep against Wilbur’s shoulder. 

Tommy and Wilbur both looked at each other silently, worry evident on their faces. There was an awful lot that needed to be spoken about in the morning, but for now they could sleep easily knowing that Tubbo was safe, he was warm, and that he would wake up where he was wanted and loved. 

Whatever happened tomorrow would happen tomorrow. 


	2. Chapter 2

Tubbo awoke in a mass of blankets and pillows, in an unfamiliar place. It was bright - with sunlight streaming in despite the blinds being shut - and he could smell bacon cooking in another room. There were hushed voices talking, the words quick and garbled to Tubbo’s still sleep-clouded mind.

It took a moment for the memories of the night before to come rushing back, and when they did Tubbo sat up. The blankets piled on top of him pooled around his waist as he blinked and he reached for a glass of water that had been placed beside him. It looked like it had been freshly poured rather than left out from the night before, and Tubbo drank it thankfully. 

He remembered the fight with his parents. He didn’t  _ want  _ to remember it: he didn’t want to think about what they’d said or done - or about what he’d said or done - so he got to his feet and decided to instead investigate the voices and the smell. He knew that he’d ended up in Wilbur’s home, that he’d fallen asleep to Paul Hollywood talking about the soggy bottom of a cake, and that Tommy had been there too. He hoped that Tommy was still there. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Wilbur, or that he didn’t trust the man, but Tommy was his  _ best friend.  _

Tommy was the person he needed the most right now.

He padded barefoot across the carpeted living room toward the voices, feeling a shiver run down his spine as the floor beneath him changed from carpet to vinyl as he entered the corridor. From there it was only a few more short steps until he poked his head around the door to the kitchen and he saw Wilbur and Tommy standing in their pyjamas. Tommy had a glass of orange juice, Wilbur stood over the stove, it all seemed domestic. Normal. They acted like brothers - even if they’d die denying it. 

“Hi.” Tubbo said quietly and when he did Wilbur and Tommy stopped speaking. He couldn’t help but think they’d been speaking  _ about him.  _

“Tubbo!” Wilbur said brightly. “Good morning! We thought we’d let you sleep, you had a rough night.”

“How’re you feeling, Big T?” Tommy asked, Wilbur redirecting his attention to the food he was preparing as Tubbo approached his friends. He offered a shrugged in response, before providing something a little more committal in words.

“Alright, I guess.” He said, forcing a smile onto his face for Tommy’s sake more than anything else. “I slept well. I didn’t really know where I was going to be sleeping when I left home last night so… Good. I’m good.”

Tommy bit on his bottom lip quietly, as if he wanted to say something but was holding back (which, really, impressed Tubbo. He wasn’t used to that much restraint from the boy). After a moment, the glass of orange juice he’d been drinking from was topped up and pushed toward him.

“Wil’s making bacon butties. What sauce do you have?” Tommy asked, and Tubbo said nothing at the change of subject.

“Red, obviously.” His reply was quick and easy, and Tommy pumped his fist in the air as Wilbur let out a groan of annoyance. 

_ “Everyone  _ knows brown sauce is better for bacon sandwiches, Tubbo. Really, I thought you’d know better than that!”

“No Wilbur, you just have shit taste. Are you saying that  _ the Tubbo underscore  _ could possibly get something like this wrong? His word is law, Wil!”

“They don’t call me  _ Big Law  _ for nothing!” Tubbo added helpfully, and the three laughed. Tubbo could tell that the laugh was forced and that there would  _ eventually  _ be a conversation about what had led to Tubbo wandering the streets of Brighton so late at night, but for now he could just enjoy a luxury he’d never had before: breakfast with his friends.

Tommy put a disgraceful amount of ketchup on his bacon sandwich, and Wilbur refused to give either of them a cup of coffee on the basis of  _ ‘you’re both bad enough without caffeine’.  _ There was a smile on his face as he’d said it, and Tubbo had no reason to believe that Wilbur meant the words the same way his parents did. It still didn’t feel  _ good  _ to hear, but he presumed Wilbur picked that up from his body language - both he and Tommy steered clear of any more jokes that could insinuate that they didn’t like Tubbo for the remainder of their meal.

It was only when the three of them finished eating and Tommy got to his feet to gather up the plates that Wilbur leaned across the table and looked at Tubbo with his  _ serious face.  _

“What happened, Tubbo?” Wilbur asked him gently. “You don’t have to tell me anything specific, it’s not my place to know the details if you don’t want me too, but you said when we found you that you’d left home. What’s going on?”

The shrug from before returned - it was a gesture that bought him time to think over his answer (not that Wilbur was rushing him to one in the first place). Wilbur, of course, didn’t buy it, and Tubbo let out a quiet sigh.

“There was an argument.” He said, his hands moving beneath the table to grip the hem of his pyjama shirt and fiddle with a loose string to keep him grounded. “I don’t remember what started it, but it had been building for a while. I think we’d just been avoiding talking about a lot of different things and it was like someone hit a big red button.” Tubbo swallowed, his eyes glancing to meet Wilbur’s gaze. The older looked at him softly, without judgement, and prompted him wordlessly to continue.

“It got bad. Really bad.” Tubbo told him. “And after everything settled down, my dad said he didn’t want me. My mum didn’t agree with him but… She didn’t back me up, either. I grabbed a bag and put a few things in it and left.”

“What did you take?” Wilbur asked. 

“My phone, my charger, my wallet. I’ve got a couple of shirts, a spare pair of jeans, a jumper, some pants and socks… Not much. I wasn’t really thinking… I didn’t know what to do.”

“Do you know what to do now?” 

A beat passed, and Tubbo shook his head. 

“You’re welcome here as long as you need. The couch is yours, or if it’s not comfortable enough I can sort out a bed for you.”

“I don’t mind.” Tubbo said, a smile teasing its way onto his face. “Just not the Doom Shack.” 

Wilbur laughed, shaking his head.  _ “Definitely  _ not the Doom Shack, that’s reserved for Tommy and Tommy alone.”

“I  _ can  _ hear you.” Tommy called from the sink, but he quickly went back to taking his time washing the dishes - Tubbo could tell that he and Wilbur had discussed how best to approach this conversation in advance.

“Did anyone hurt you?” Wilbur asked, his serious voice coming back. “I mean, physically, did anyone lay a hand on you? Hit you or punch or shove or--”

“No.” Tubbo said earnestly. “It was all just words. I mean, hurtful words, but words. No physical harm done.”

“Have you checked your phone this morning? Your parents might have tried to get in touch when you didn’t come home last night.”

Tubbo was hesitant to do so. They hadn’t cared in the slightest when he’d left with a bag on his back, and they hadn’t texted him before Wilbur and Tommy had found him. Why should that have changed now? But Wilbur had asked, and he had been kind enough to let Tubbo stay overnight, so the least he could do was check. He pushed his chair out from the table, flinching at the screeching sound the legs made against the floor, and he made his way through to the living room once more. Either Tommy or Wilbur had put his phone on to charge overnight and he was thankful for whichever had done it - it meant that he could pick his phone up and settle back on the mound of cushions and covers on the couch without a second thought.

He brought his finger to the scanner on the back of the phone and held it there for a moment, before the screen unlocked and he could see his notifications.

Twitter, Twitch, YouTube -  _ the usual.  _ He scrolled through them all rather than just swiping them away, wanting to put off the inevitable.

He had a text from his father.

Tubbo closed his eyes when he clicked on it, letting the application load for several moments before he reopened them and read the words on the screen.

_ 1 unread message _

_ Dad, received at 08:37: Do you want to get any more of your things? Your mother agreed to help move them. Anything not collected by Monday we’re taking to a charity shop. _

Tubbo felt like someone had cut his chest open, reached inside and grabbed his heart. He felt it being squeezed tightly, ripped out, and tortured.  _ They’re just words,  _ he told himself,  _ they can’t hurt you.  _

But they hurt more than anything he could possibly imagine.

He thought hearing his father say that he was unwanted the night before had been painful, and he thought his mother refusing to defend him had hurt, but hearing it again? He  _ regretted  _ the argument he’d had with his family after a night of crying and sleeping, but his parents were clearly unmoved by the time they had to think on the matter.

He was gone, and they wanted him to stay gone.

Tubbo felt an arm wrapping around him tightly, his body leaning to the side as another person sat beside him, and he was pulled close. It took him a moment to realise that it was Tommy holding him against his chest, and another moment to realise that he was  _ crying.  _

“You’re okay, Tubbo.” Tommy said, in a tone that seemed far too gentle for the young boy to possess. “Wil and I are here. Whatever happened last night, it’s over.” Tubbo felt a gentle, rhythmical brushing of a thumb over his upper arm and he nuzzled closer to Tommy, letting himself cry in the embrace of his best friend. He wanted to feel wanted, to feel loved, to feel like  _ someone  _ cared for him: Tommy was the exact person he needed to show him that. 

“They don’t want me Tommy.” Tubbo whimpered, his tears coming thick and fast. He didn’t bother to wipe them away, letting them stain his cheeks and the front of Tommy’s pyjamas. “They don’t want me. They didn’t want me. Everything they ever said about loving me was a lie.”

He felt the arms around him tightened and he buried himself closer still to Tommy, finally finding the strength to return the gesture and wrap his own arms around his friend. 

“Well, it’s not a lie when we say it.” Tommy told him quietly. “We love you, we want you. You’re my best friend Tubbo, I love you. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you by my side, and I really don’t want to find out. I want to be best friends with you forever, and every plan I’ve ever made with you - streaming, moving in together - I meant them all. I promised you, and I don’t break my promises, okay?”

Tubbo muttered a quiet  _ mhm  _ against his chest, nodding slowly as he felt another weight joining them on the couch - this time sitting on the other side of him. A hand found his hair, and with both of Tommy’s still holding him he assumed it to be Wilbur’s. It would make sense as to why the gesture was so gentle, slowly carding through the knots that had formed after spending time out in the storm and not brushing his hair before bed.

“You can stay here as long as you want, Tubbo.” Wilbur said. “I’ve got space for you. You don’t have to worry about rent or bills or food or anything, just get comfortable, make yourself at home. We’re like a family - us, Phil, and Techno - and no matter what happens I’m here for you.  _ Both of you.  _ I know if I was the one in trouble you’d do what you could to help me out.”

“If you want to stay here I’m sure Wil and I can help get any stuff you need from your parent’s home. And Wil’s got a car, we can always go to Ikea together if you need anything.”

“Sleepy Bois Inc. go to Ikea, I see absolutely  _ nothing  _ going wrong there.” Wilbur laughed a little, and it was infectious. Tommy laughed too, and the feeling of his head moving up and down with Tommy’s breathing was enough to push Tubbo over the edge. His laughter wasn’t quite as loud as the others, but it was still there. After the three settled back down, they sat in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, but rather exactly what Tubbo needed. He needed time to think and process the options available to him, and Tommy and Wilbur were giving him just that. Between the warm hug from Tommy - that he didn’t think was going to end any time in the next hour - and Wilbur’s fingers applying just a little pressure to his scalp, Tubbo was able to relax. Coming to a decision wasn’t difficult when his new family was already being so kind to him.

“I’d like to stay.” Tubbo said quietly, eventually, and he turned his head to look at Wilbur just in time to see the man practically melting into the sofa he sat on.

“Oh, thank  _ God.”  _ He breathed. “I was terrified you’d say no. God, Tubbo, I don’t know what I’d have done if you’d wandered out that door alone today.” His hands came to his face, and Tubbo moved out of Tommy’s hold to sit up a little straighter. “I wouldn’t know if you’d gone home or just gone awol, and if you’d gotten into the same state you were in last night and stepped out in front of--”

“Wilbur.” Tommy said, his voice calming and managing to soothe the anxiety the oldest was feeling with just one word. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“Tommy’s right, Wil. I’m not.” Tubbo said, his usual positive demeanour starting to trickle back in. It wasn’t there in full force - not yet - and it might not be for quite some time, but the traces of it were there. There was a sparkle in his eyes that wasn’t just leftover tears, and a curve to his lips that  _ almost  _ looked like a smile. “We’re family, my  _ real  _ family, you aren’t getting rid of me  _ that  _ easily.”

“Yeah!” Tommy grinned. “We’re like brothers, Wil.”

“Don’t say that, Tommy, I  _ will  _ cry.” He said, leaning forward to wrap both Tommy and Tubbo into a tight hold.

And if on this occasion, he  _ did  _ cry, then Tubbo would spend the next few weeks bullying him incessantly about it.

He was home, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, finally posting chapter two??? finally offering up some tubbo comfort??? more likely than you think
> 
> even if it took 3 months
> 
> hope you enjoyed this! feel free to follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/moonieiswriting) or [join my discord](https://discord.gg/HEj9Z8h27w) if you did :] comments & kudos are always appreciated, too!


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